


Villains of Circumstance

by robotboy



Series: Flying Blind [3]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bondage, Cassian/K2 mentioned, Fix-It of Sorts, K2SO lives, M/M, Mission Fic, One Shot, Scars, cassian andor lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:53:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26605531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotboy/pseuds/robotboy
Summary: About old scars and fresh wounds: a sequel to Fairweather Friends. Cassian Andor and Din Djarin meet again, four years after the Battle of Yavin.
Relationships: Cassian Andor/Din Djarin
Series: Flying Blind [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1698328
Comments: 36
Kudos: 159





	Villains of Circumstance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bright_Elen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bright_Elen/gifts).



It was meant to be an easy job.

Din had followed the target for three days. The man was smart, sticking to busier places, traveling in public ferries. Never anywhere too isolated, or too crowded, where his disappearance might go unnoticed. So Din waited, stalking him across four cities and an ocean. Sooner or later, the target would slip up. Din would be ready.

Kothlis was hot, and worse, it was sticky. Din shifted uncomfortably in layers that should have been washed a week ago. His helmet was shaded under an attachment that resembled a Kyuzo war helmet at a glance. He’d foregone his amban rifle for this job: it was too conspicuous in the affluent resort districts the target frequented. He sorely missed the long-range audio sensors. Without being able to eavesdrop on the target, there was no way to know where he was headed until he moved.

Din adjusted the scope in his helmet, sharpening the focus. The target was sitting at a café across the plaza from Din. His posture implied a tourist savouring a cool drink on a long afternoon: the furrow in his brow and the tic in his jaw gave him away. Din scanned the plaza for the source of the target’s anxiety. Nothing out of the ordinary, save the overabundance of pot-bellied waitdroids. Din suspected it was the _absence_ of something that bothered his prey, and he settled deeper into the shadows of the alley: he, after all, could be patient.

Besides, watching the target wasn’t the most arduous of jobs, even if following him had its challenges. The man was strikingly handsome, fine-boned and dark-eyed. He wore his hair long, with a moustache almost hiding the delicate line of his lips. His movements were graceful, and he had a way of angling himself when talking with the local Bothans that made him look almost as short as they were. Din, however, guessed they were equal height, and knew from the chain code they were a similar age.

There was something about him. It wasn’t just his looks. It itched worse than the tropical heat, the unplaceable familiarity of him. It wasn’t his face—he’d remember a face like that—but something about the way he sat, the impatient tension between his shoulders. The way he kept his little finger away from the chilly glass when he picked it up. Din hissed in frustration. He’d have plenty of time to recollect that face when the man was finally in carbonite.

It took nearly an hour. The glass had only icemelt when the man abandoned it, straightening his shirt as he stood. Din pressed his back to the wall: every location the target left, he scanned quickly. A well-trained spy: almost good enough to catch Din following him.

The man wandered along the beachfront, while Din kept to the streets. There weren’t many places his target could disappear, although he had the advantage of the sun setting over the sea to blind anyone following him. Din kept a comfortable distance, until the target chose a modest inn and slipped inside. It was a good location: few occupants, two street-level exits, and no adjacent buildings tall enough for a sniper. Still, a determined bounty hunter with a grappling hook could make good use of the sandstone. Din waited until dark before he did just that.

The rooms on the south side of the building had no lights on. From Din’s surveillance, he’d guessed the target’s room faced north. The target would be unarmed: Din had observed the mandatory security check. All he had to do was slip through the window of an empty room, locate and stun the target, then transport him back to the Razor Crest for freezing. The client on Tatooine would be delighted.

It was meant to be an easy job. That’s why Din hadn’t guessed the target had laid a tripwire across the window, sending him crashing to the floor of the supposedly-empty room.

He tried to wrench his feet free, reaching for his blaster. The target’s kick sent it clattering across the floor. Din fired a burst from his flamethrower: he couldn’t afford more than that, since the bounty demanded him in one piece. The target didn’t flinch. He yanked the wire, unbalancing Din. Then he sprang, dragging Din into a chokehold.

It was sheer luck the helmet didn’t move when the man squeezed. To hell with it, Din decided: a scorched target was better than dishonour. He fumbled for the flamethrower.

‘Why are you following me?’ the man growled, increasing the pressure on Din’s windpipe. ‘Who sent you?’

Din gasped. _‘Cassian?’_

_‘Who told you my name?’_

‘Cassian,’ Din struggled, slapping the slender forearm keeping him in place. ‘It’s me! It’s…’

Cassian’s knee drove into his back. Din coughed, grabbing the glove on his left hand and tugging it off. He waved it in Cassian’s face.

Dark spots were blooming in his vision. He prayed Cassian remembered that cell four years ago, at least half as vividly as he did. That it meant anything to him now.

He didn’t get a chance to ask before Cassian choked him out.

*

Din’s arms hurt. He swallowed a lungful of air, keeping carefully still. His helmet was still on, but his wrists were cuffed to something solid. A bedframe, maybe. He peered through the visor. It was the same room. His feet were unbound: that might give him the leverage to get his arms free.

A voice murmured in the corner of the room.

‘Don’t pick me up yet.’

Din inhaled quietly. Now he’d placed that voice, he didn’t know how he hadn’t recognised Cassian before. He’d only caught glimpses of him in the cell, half-blinded after so long in darkness, but he should have _known._ The caution, the way he moved, the damned _itch_ under Din’s skin.

‘Something spooked the Bothans. I don’t have the plans yet.’

A snide response, distorted by a communicator. Din bristled: it was the KX droid.

‘We’ll find another way. It can’t happen again,’ Cassian set the communicator down. He walked past the window, silhouetted as he scraped his hair off his forehead, exhaling sharply.

His nostrils flared when he looked Din up and down. He straightened slightly in surprise: he’d realised Din was awake.

‘Cassian,’ Din’s voice was still hoarse. ‘Seventeen days in an Imperial blackout cell. Prison ship over the Jalor system.’

Cassian let out a soft snort. ‘Is that meant to mean something to me?’

‘You still feel the cold in that broken finger,’ Din rasped. ’I’m the one who splinted it.’

Cassian’s eyelashes twitched, just a fraction. He remembered.

‘You know me,’ Din said. ‘Listen to my voice. Look at the scar on my hand.’

Cassian crouched, but he stayed out of kicking range. He wasn’t a fool. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Someone’s offering a lot of money to get you back,’ Din said. ‘They didn’t have your name.’

Cassian made a _hmm_ of bemusement. He grabbed Din’s foot, and Din flinched. Cassian had a firm grip, though, unbuckling the straps and prying the boot free.

‘What are you—?’

‘Keep still.’

Din obeyed. Cassian touched the scar running from Din’s ankle to his kneecap: Din’s hair prickled in the wake of Cassian’s hand. His touch was light, the pads of his fingers calloused. Din tilted his head to watch how Cassian closed his eyes, feeling out the gnarled edge of the old wound.

Cassian shifted to his knees, moving closer. Din could kick him with the other foot, if he had to. Any nearer, and Din could headbutt him. Then Cassian would be sore, either angry or unconscious—while Din would still be cuffed to the bed.

The touch continued over Din’s pants, past the plate on his thigh. Din didn’t mean for his breath to catch. He’d just been choked.

Cassian’s hand slipped between layers of armour, rucking up his tunic. Din rattled the cuffs in confusion, and Cassian hissed to quiet him. His gaze was distant, even while his face was close enough to fog Din’s visor. Cassian touched the tender skin of his belly, making him twitch. Din bit his lip to stop the noise of realisation: Cassian was searching for the knife wound beside his navel.

 _You could have just checked the fracture in my arm,_ he said with only a grunt.

Cassian’s touch lingered the way it had four years earlier, trailing through the hair there. Din twitched. It took effort not to roll his hips. Cassian undid him as easily as if no time had passed.

‘I thought you’d rot in that cell,’ Cassian admitted.

_So you thought of me._

‘I thought all the Rebels got killed on Hoth,’ Din said.

‘Almost did,’ a smile quirked at the corner of Cassian’s mouth. ‘If it weren’t for Kay.’

And there it was: the reason why the sweetest memories of Cassian still dragged over Din’s nerves like broken glass.

Cassian’s eyebrow raised. He knew what he’d said. His right hand was still exploring Din’s waist, sliding around to grasp the hipbone. He was straddling Din’s lap now, tugging his own shirt collar open.

‘I still can’t believe you,’ his other hand rested on Din’s collarbone, between the pauldron and the cuirass. ‘Too fucking proud to be saved by a droid.’

Despite the bitterness in his voice, he couldn’t seem to stop touching Din. His thumb tightened in the fabric of the cowl, and Din tilted away to keep him from moving the helmet.

‘I found my own way out,’ Din reminded him.

‘How?’ Cassian’s left hand gripped tighter. His thighs tensed where they bracketed Din’s.

‘They emptied the cells after Yavin,’ Din kept the quaver from his voice, as Cassian’s fingers hooked inside his waistband. ‘Consolidation.’

‘Seven more days alone?’ Cassian shook his head. ‘Was it worth it?’

Din didn’t answer: Cassian’s lip curled in contempt.

‘I should have forced you,’ Cassian muttered.

Din should resist. But Cassian’s eyes had a sheen as he searched Din’s visor for some sort of sign. Din leaned into Cassian’s touch: there wasn’t a lot more he could do, in the cuffs.

‘I searched for you,’ Cassian said. ‘All the way to Tatooine, chasing rumours of a Mandalorian bounty hunter.’

He’d come as close as Tatooine. But Din knew that already, or they wouldn’t be here.

‘I couldn’t ask questions,’ the admission slipped out of Din. Cassian drew it to the surface as easily as he did everything else. ‘It would have compromised you.’

Cassian would know this. But maybe he hadn’t known how Din wanted to try.

Cassian bit his lip, rolling it between his teeth like a lover would. Like Din should have, in the safety of darkness. Cassian’s hand came to rest on Din’s belt buckle. His lips parted slightly, the unspoken question hanging from them. Din shifted his weight. It must have put pressure on Cassian where he was perched on Din’s thighs, because a gasp slipped out of him.

Din nodded in answer.

Cassian undid the buckle slowly, silently. This was a bad idea. But the slight tremor in Cassian’s left hand, where it cradled Din’s neck, betrayed how much he needed this. How much they both did. So when Cassian slipped into Din’s pants and palmed his cock, Din was already getting hard, and his groan echoed with Cassian’s.

Din strained against the cuffs. He braced his foot on the floor for leverage, thrusting his thigh between Cassian’s. Cassian shivered.

‘Come on,’ Din murmured. ‘Come _on.’_

He’d been referring to the bonds, but Cassian unfastened his own pants, drawing himself out. Din’s throat went dry at the sight, his fists curling with the urge to touch. Cassian’s fingers were digging into his spine now. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips. Din angled the helmet: it might have been an empty gesture, but Cassian bit down on his own lip, eyes slipping shut. Maybe it was easier, recalling the dark they’d shared, as Cassian surged in Din’s lap to stroke both of them together. Din rocked his hips, thigh pressing into Cassian’s ass, and Cassian rode his lap.

The fingers of Cassian’s left hand had found their way under the cowl, circling the wisps of hair at the back of Din’s neck. It made Din’s heart stutter, an entirely different intimacy from the hard heat of Cassian’s cock sliding against his.

‘Has there…’ Cassian bit through a whine before he could continue. ‘Has there been anyone since?’

He could lie.

He didn’t.

At a slight shake of his head, Cassian shuddered.

Din had to ask, even if he could guess the answer. ‘You?’

Cassian gave a breathless laugh, and he nodded. He undulated in Din’s lap, moving faster. Sweat glistened on his chest.

‘You really want to know?’ he smirked.

‘Yeah,’ Din said, and realised that he did.

‘Kay,’ Cassian confessed. ‘Mostly.’

Din tensed, and Cassian felt it. He didn’t stop stroking them, though, and Din didn’t tell him to.

‘What bothers you more?’ Cassian mused. ‘That my droid and I fuck…?’

Din held his breath, fists balling. Pleasure was coiling down his spine, and it was getting harder to concentrate.

Cassian leaned so close his cheek brushed the helmet. ‘…Or that my droid fucks me?’

Din’s jaw clenched. He was too far gone to think clearly about it. Too lost in the sight of Cassian fraying at the edges, the promise of how Cassian would look being fucked, the pressure of him grinding on Din’s thigh like he wanted it now.

He thrust his leg up, and Cassian whimpered. His grip tightened on the back of Din’s neck, and around Din’s cock. They were almost chest-to-chest, the bedframe groaning as Din let the cuffs take his weight, shoving up into Cassian’s hand.

‘I missed you,’ Cassian gasped, his forehead pressed to the helmet.

‘Let me touch you,’ Din begged, his heart pounding in his throat. ‘Cassian, _please.’_

A vulnerable sound slipped out of Cassian, but he didn’t undo the restraints. His nails dug into Din’s spine, as he rocked between Din’s thigh and his cock. Din growled, pushing Cassian closer. His cock throbbed with need.

Cassian came first, spilling over with barely a sound. He wasted no time, swiping his hand through the mess on his shirt and using it as slick, changing the angle to jerk Din’s cock firmly. His eyes were bright, lips parted, hair falling in his face. He gripped Din’s cock and coaxed him through his own orgasm. A moan escaped Din, and Cassian kept that fierce, almost triumphant attention on him as he quivered through the comedown. Din was gasping for breath, panting like he’d suffocated a second time. He hung from the cuffs, thighs sprawling as much as Cassian would let him. The back of his helmet hitting the bedframe with a _tink,_ and he swallowed.

Cassian unbuttoned his shirt, wiping a clean corner of it on the cuirass. Din looked down to check the damage: Cassian had taken the brunt of the mess. He tucked Din’s cock away, climbing off Din’s lap. Din’s wrists were starting to ache, and his ass no longer appreciated being ground into the floor.

‘You shouldn’t have come here,’ Cassian’s voice had a hoarse edge to it. ‘The mission’s compromised.’

Din bit his tongue, rather than ask if it was really the _mission_ that was compromised.

‘So let me go,’ Din said. He nudged himself backwards, seeking leverage to break free on his own.

‘You’re meant to bring me in,’ Cassian reminded him.

‘I won’t.’

‘Yeah, you will,’ Cassian rolled his eyes. ‘Why wouldn’t you?’

‘Yeah,’ Din sighed.

’Stalemate, then,’ Cassian murmured.

He let his shirt slip off his shoulders, and Din’s heart skipped a beat. From Cassian’s tailbone to somewhere under his hairline, a glistening white burn splashed across the flesh of his back. He turned his face to one side, silhouetted against the window: he knew Din had seen it.

‘Give yourself a head start,’ Din offered a compromise. ‘Even if I catch up, you escaped the client the first time. You could do it again.’

‘I have to stay on Kothlis,’ Cassian scowled. ‘If there’s _any_ chance we can salvage this…’

The buzzing made both of them startle. Cassian went for the blaster, while Din curled his knees to his chest. It took him a few seconds to realise where it was coming from.

‘My communicator,’ he told Cassian. ‘I need to take this.’

‘Convenient,’ Cassian muttered.

‘The Guild will ping my location if I don’t check in,’ Din lied.

Cassian ground his teeth.

‘Look, can you at least grab it for me?’ Din grumbled.

Cassian gave a tight nod, crouching at Din’s hip. He found the communicator in one of the pockets, holding it in front of Din’s face.

‘Karga?’ Din answered, and hoped his voice wasn’t as scratchy as it felt.

‘Hey, you collect your target yet?’ Greef’s voice crackled back.

’Nearly,’ Din cocked his head at Cassian, who mirrored him. ‘Why?’

‘The job’s off.’

Cassian’s nostrils flared with cynicism.

‘What?’ Din blinked.

‘The client’s dead,’ Greef said. ‘Some Rebel girl strangled him on his own luxury barge.’

‘You’re kidding,’ Din frowned.

‘Wish I was, pal,’ Greef sighed. ‘His deposit barely covers the callout fee.’

Din looked at Cassian. Cassian was staring at the communicator like it had grown tentacles.

‘Okay,’ Din didn’t have to fake his exasperation. ‘Meet you on Nevarro, then?’

Cassian’s eyes flashed. Now he knew where to find Din, if he ever wanted to look.

‘Alright,’ Greef replied. ‘See you, Mando.’

Din gave Cassian a nod, and Cassian shut the comms off.

‘You believe me now?’ Din asked.

Cassian shook his head wryly, but he took a key from his pocket. He unlocked the cuff on Din’s left hand.

Pins and needles surged through his arm. He let it fall into his lap, listing to one side to relieve the pressure on the right. Cassian took Din’s hand, thumb driving into the swell of his palm to rub the feeling back into it.

Cassian’s eyes dropped to their conjoined hands. He brushed his fingertips over the flamethrower scar. As he leaned in to examine it, Din could see how his throat bobbed.

‘It _is_ blue,’ he murmured.

Din had touched him like this. A long time ago, it felt like.


End file.
